Technophile
by Corrupted Kappa
Summary: France gets a new phone, and decides to try it out on England. France & England/Britain


_France finally received a phone with picture messaging, and he might as well take full advantage of the learning curve._

_Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any Hetalia character, but only my naughty imagery of them_.

-;

France: Bored and in bed, which were two things that when combined could make an interesting matter. A sigh was pressed quickly from his lips before his eyes, groggy from boredom landed curiously on his new device. Amerique had previously given him a cellphone at the Christmas party that had just passed , and he was sure he only wanted to brag of the monumental stepping stone he thought is wasl, considering everyone received their own.

He immediately flipped his new toy open without another thought as he rolled himself back onto the bed with the lazy grace of a cat. The Frenchman was always the one to break in new devices with more than enough intrigue, though this one seemed less inovative and pleasurable than his others. There was only one name that came to mind for a trial and error concept for this. 'Sourcils' was easily found in his little black list of numbers and contacts. It had been a painful span of time since they were able to be face to face with each other, or cock to ass, or fist to jaw. Each nation was busy with affairs of their own; political and other.

Not a sound in the house was heard except for the small beeps and tones that sounded off from the hand held, each louder than the previous. The digital Englishman was soon marked as a favorite by France before being deleted and re-added again. Not wanting to waste more time the nation took position on his colorful silk pillows, and let his imagination slip between the seams of his mind. A teasing manner beneficial for himself, he parted the way of his night coat and let his fingers caress the taunt skin of his stomach. Each small touch sent an alert to his nerves that something very good was about to take place.

A small smile formed , as he imagined his Angleterre before him at the foot of the bed, watching with a glare, that both knew was only for show. The imagined heat that was held in those sharp green eyes only drew more of a widespread smile and a soft groan from Frenchman. The fingers continued their teasing passage to just underneath a dusky pink nipple. His imaginary Brit's eyes would dilate just a bit with anticipation and pleasure , before returning to a bored state. The Frenchman in return would act as if that bothered him not and release a soft sigh as the sensitive nub was squeezed.

'Flash'

The camera went off with a burst of illuminating light that gave reason for France to bite his bottom lip in approval. 'That will be a good one...' he thought to himself. He could imagine the nation at the foot of the bed and making slow steps to stand beside it. Angleterre's lips moistened and opened just enough as his gaze penetrated France's near vulnerable body. He could practically see the personal war in those emerald's eyes. 'Surrender or Not?' they screamed from above him.

Oh how France loved a Brit on his knees surrendering to him, but just this once, he would allow his imaginary nation to stand his ground and watch the show instead of participate. His hand cupped his own lean neck. Flushed with arousal the long haired blond slowly began to tease the edges of that rough stubble upon his beard. He couldn't help the small hitch in his breath and the soft round 'O' of his lips. He could almost hear the same take of breath in his ears that he was accustomed to hearing from his Angleterre…

'Snap'

The soft click of the camera sounded off its own sense of approval this time. The small flush of blood was still apparent on his face as he got beneath the sheets. His Angleterre watched curiously. He could see those proper English wheels slowly turning in his head; wondering what was next and famished for more.

A moment was needed to pause his plans as he viewed the first two photos and sent them quickly. Words were not needed for these pictures spoke thousands. His imaginary Angleterre rolled his eyes, as he was sure the real one was doing. 'A message from that filthy frog. This time of the night' the Brit would say as he saw his name along with the taunting dancing envelope. France hummed softly. He knew exactly where that man was right now as he checked his mobile. There would be a stuffy office in the corner of the world; smelling of nothing else but tea and politics. That man he wanted so badly now, sitting behind a desk with more papers than he could handle. And as that message was opened… the papers would instantly be forgotten while something new emerged into his thoughts.

"Ah mon cher… it has been too long since I have seen that Fantastique shade of red on your skin…" he said into the 'almost' empty room. His imaginary Angleterre immediately blossomed that beautiful color and France could feel himself harden a little more. He looked down the length of his body and focused his eyes on the small tent that had formed. He placed his hand at the base of the homemade house.

'Click'

Yes, he would be using this feature for many, many nights to come. He went through the process of sending this one also, and then tapped the phone softly against his lips.. His Angleterre smiled in soft approval, that he would think that France didn't notice, but of course he did. After all France was the one that placed it there.

A familiar alert rang clearly and loudly through the room. The French National Anthem never sounded so sweet. He looked down to his phone as a small envelope hopped in view.

'Call me you fucking tease…' the lovely message read.

The Frenchman laughed at the 'touching' message, and made a reply of his own.

'You call me first mon cher'

A few more seconds passed, and then minutes followed swiftly after. He breathed softly and gave a pity squeeze to his member. It seemed his mon amant had decided to play no longer. And then…

'Message received…'

…Slithered its way across his screen… it was a picture message to be exact. As soon as he opened the data file his imaginary lover faded away as something much more tangible was held before him. This nation needed no other incentive as he dialed with a smile that sounded even through his now favorite toy .

"Qu'est-ce qui vous derange… what's bothering you Puis-je aider?... can I help?

-;

Translations

_Sourcils- Eyebrows_

A/N: Ah, my first Hetalia fic, and actually my first fic ever actually uploaded! I had really wanted to write a fic based off the song 'Dirty Picture' My grammar and sentence structure is not great, so apologies, not looking for harsh critiques on that, I know it's an issue.

Pardon the french, not fluent unfortunately. Thanks for reading!


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